


Where the lost get found

by Ninjanervana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek Hale, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjanervana/pseuds/Ninjanervana
Summary: The Nogitsune took a lot of things from Stiles: Allison, his peace of mind, his consent, his sanity, even his Spark. Maybe it’s time for Stiles to start taking things back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: slight AU, in which the events of 3B take place during the pack’s senior year. Also Derek comes back as an alpha for no other reason than my deep love of Alpha Derek Hale.  
> Also my first Teen Wolf fan fiction so comments and constructive criticism is very welcome!

Magic was always a part of Stiles, even before he knew what magic was, knew what he was. But it was such a subtle thing that any strange occurrences could be brushed off by adults, though the instances rarely happened around anyone. He never had a Matilda moment where he made objects fly around the room and he tried to use the Force multiple times and only succeeded in giving himself a headache. Magic was never at his beck and call like it was to characters in books or movies. For Stiles, sometimes things just happened. 

_Stiles’s fingertips scrambled against the tiles of the bathroom wall as he stretched to reach the light switch. His tongue stuck out between his teeth as his fingers brushed the bottom of the light fixture. He just needed to potty but he couldn’t do that in the dark; what if he went in the wrong spot! He glanced back at the darkened hallway toward his parents’ closed bedroom door, frowning slightly. He knew he could go wake his mommy or daddy but...but no he was a big boy. He was four now! He could use the bathroom by himself. Turning back to the light switch, he reached up again, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to reach further up. He felt the bottom of the light switch again as he stood on tiptoe, his reach falling short of their goal. ‘Turn on, turn on, turn on,’ he thought fiercely, his need for the bathroom blocking out everything else. He gasped in delighted surprise as the light suddenly illuminated the bathroom, a proud grin stretching across his face. ‘I’m a big boy,’ he thought proudly as he hurried to the toilet._

_Even with his medication, 12 year old Stiles thought his ADHD was the worst thing ever, especially when he had access to the internet. What started as doing his geometry led to wondering how the shapes got their names, so of course he had to ask google. Which led from how the shapes got their names to famous mathematicians, which then led to Latin alphabet, which he had been learning for the past hour and a half. He wondered if his teacher would make him re-write his homework without his Latin notes in the margin._  
_With a soft sigh, he sent his pencil down and took a deep breath. Which instantly led to panic as he smelled something burning. ‘Oh damn, no no no,’ Stiles thought frantically as he stumbled out of his desk chair. He had put the casserole he made for dinner in the oven and was supposed to take it out after an hour and fifteen minutes. If it was burnt, he wouldn’t have enough time to make a new one for dinner and he couldn’t serve his dad a ruined casserole. Then he’d just say they should order take out and he needed to eat well to stay healthy.  
‘Don’t be burnt, don’t be burnt, please for the love of god, be edible and don’t be burnt,’ Stiles thought as he rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste. “Shit!” he shouted as his shoulder clipped the doorway of the kitchen, sending him spinning. Quickly righting himself, he grabbed the oven mitts off the counter -he would be the idiot to give himself second degree burns in his haste- and yanked open the oven. “Oh thank god,” he sighed out loud as he pulled out the unburnt casserole and set it on the stove. “Saved it.” Tossing the oven mitts aside, he did his happy dance around the kitchen before celebrating with a victory soda. _

_Stiles felt his stomach sink as Harris mentioned he’d only accept the test answers that were written in pencil. Jerking his book bag in front of him, he nearly broke the zipper as he yanked it open. He’d dumped the contents of his bag onto his desk last night in a fit of frustration and had barely remembered to swipe it back into his bag before running out of his house that morning. Half of the items had gone spilling onto the floor and he didn’t have that many pencils to start with. Odds weren’t looking good that he had an extra with him and he did not want a bullshit detention from Harris because he didn’t have a pencil with him.  
His heart pounded as his fingers scraped the bottom of his bag, fumbling with crumpled papers and abused notebooks. ‘Just one pencil, I only need one pencil,’ he thought desperately. ‘One solitary pencil, I need it, I need it.’ He’d almost given up hope when his finger finally brushed against something, his hand gripping it as he pulled it from his bag. The pencil was chewed to Hell and it didn’t even have an eraser but it was still a pencil with a good enough point. Enough to avoid detention for another day. _

And then the Nogitsune happened.  
In the aftermath of all the carnage, drowning in grief and guilt and anger, Stiles didn’t even have the time to spare a thought for his Spark. They were all scrambling to figure out how to function again, to regain some semblance of normalcy while still graduating on time. Some managed the latter effortlessly -Lydia was named valedictorian to no one’s surprise - while others struggled to achieve even that much. The silver lining to missing so many weeks of school is that Stiles now had a pile of assignments and readings to catch up on that he could complete on the nights he couldn’t or wouldn’t sleep. Why not do calculus instead of screaming yourself awake every night. He was being productive at least. Anything was a welcome distraction to his misery. From the fact that Scott couldn’t look him in the eye. That Lydia flinched whenever he got too close to her. That his dad still watched him out of the corner of his eye, as if he wasn’t sure if Stiles was really back. Schoolwork was a blessing at this point.  
By the time Stiles managed to surface long enough from his constant flurry of emotions to care about his magic, they were days away from graduation. He’d chosen to defer college for a year while the others went off to college. He could barely sleep through the night; he wasn’t gonna force some poor bastard to share a dorm room with his nightmares. He barely shared them with his father and friends. Derek had decided to remain in Beacon Hills; he’d become an alpha in his own right and Beacon Hills would always be Hale territory even if Scott was a true alpha. Between himself and Derek, he was sure they could manage whatever big bad was lurking around the corner. But it wouldn’t hurt to have something magical up his sleeve.  
Unfortunately the Nogitsune hadn’t just emptied his sleeves of any tricks; he ripped the damn sleeves clean off his hoodie. Nothing that Deaton did or asked him to do produced any type of magical result. He couldn’t even make a mountain ash circle like he did at the club all those months ago, something he could do before he even started training with Deaton. The sympathy on the usually stoic face of the Druid knocked the breath from his lungs, sending him stumbling back against the examination table as if Deaton had physically struck him. Numbness washed over him as Deaton explained that it seemed his spark had been smothered by the Nogitsune, that his fledgling powers were unable to stand up against a centuries old trickster sprit.  
And wasn’t that just like the Nogitsune, Stiles had thought as he stumbled out of the clinic to his Jeep. Even months after it had been defeated, it managed to pull off one last trick. It had taken Allison and Aiden, countless innocent people at the police station, his friends’ trust and happiness, his sanity and his sleep, his confidence and peace of mind. Why not take his spark as well. What was one more thing lost to the Nogitsune.


	2. Chapter 2

Like all negative emotions Stiles had to deal with in his life, he dealt with the loss of his Spark the same way - by completely ignoring it and focusing on a new project until the feeling went away. Was it the healthiest way to deal with it? Absolutely not and Stiles was fully aware of it. He just didn’t know any other way to cope with it. The mental box of things that could shatter him was already overflowing; it had to remain firmly shut at all times if he wanted to fake being okay well enough to fool everyone. Examining emotions and processing them was not what he did. It wasn’t something he could afford to do. If he let himself fall apart, he knew there was a good chance he’d never be able to put himself back together, not with all the parts he was missing. His plan was to ignore the problem until it went away and he was sticking to it.  
He quickly organized a schedule for himself that would last him the entire summer; the less free time he had, the less likely he was to think about all of the blood he had on his hands. He could only spend so many hours on the internet reading random Wikipedia articles and falling into research black holes. He never knew what might accidentally trigger him so spontaneity was not his friend at the moment. He learned that lesson the hard way.  
Mondays and Wednesdays he worked for the Sheriff’s department processing paperwork and converting all of their old paper files into PDFs to log into their new computer system. The officers had started the process, but after the bombing, they were naturally short-staffed. The paperwork solved two problems temporarily: his need to have something to keep him busy and his need to do penance for all the things he had done as the Nogitsune. He worked from home, the paperwork spread out across the kitchen table as a pile of boxes sat around him. He had gone to the Sheriff’s department the first Monday of the summer, but he had had a panic attack so bad his dad called Scott to take him home. He wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.  
Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays he worked on his own personal pack project. Making his own Beastiary. After all, he could only resist his urge to research for so long. Fridays and Saturdays were for normal non-work related distractions: grocery shopping, Wikipedia binges, video games, going for runs around the Preserve. Who said he couldn’t run from his problems.  
Stiles threw himself fully into the task of compiling his own Beastiary, something that was definitely needed with all the monsters Beacon Hills attracted. One place they could go to for information that wasn’t strictly based on hunter knowledge, which was so wildly biased and wrong he was shocked the hunters kept some of the information. He was the pack research human before he knew he had a Spark. He could still be that now. Unable to find peace or comfort in his own room, -and wasn’t that another kick in the teeth from the Nogitsune, he didn’t even feel safe in his own bedroom- and not wanting to work at the kitchen table and freak his dad out with all the supernatural stuff, Stiles had set up his research center in Derek’s loft. Derek had raised his eyebrows in surprise the first time he walked in, spilling a pile of books onto his coffee table while holding his breath and hoping he wouldn’t be thrown out, but made no comment against Stiles setting himself up in the living room. That was as good as an approval for Stiles. If he was being honest with himself, he knew even at his grumpiest, most sourwolf moment, Derek wouldn’t have thrown him out when he needed somewhere safe to be. Now that he was back in Beacon Hills, Derek was a little softer around the edges. A little less tense, less angry, less lost. A good person for Stiles to have in his corner.  
After that, Stiles could frequently find his favorite snacks in the cupboard, a Star Wars mug in the dish rack, his spare phone charger plugged into the outlet, and a blanket in the linen closet that he thought of as his on the nights he was too tired to drive home. Which was pretty often. Derek even joined him to help assist with research when he wasn’t working, placing a sandwich next to Stiles when he was too absorbed with research to remember to eat and contributing his own information that he had either heard from his family or that he found in the books in his family’s vault. They had a system that worked for them, a steady rhythm that they hadn’t realized they needed until it became a fixture in their life. Living in Beacon Hills didn’t allow for much stability, but Stiles clung to his books, the schedule of research he had developed for himself, and the safety of Derek’s loft and presence.  
On the rare occasions that Derek would actually bring the books from the vault to the loft, Stiles always handled the books with the greatest care and importance. These books were one of the few things Derek had left of his family and he’d be damned if he even breathed too hard on the pages. The books were a fountain of knowledge not only about the supernatural, but about the Hale family as well. Little comments about supernatural creatures had been written into the margins of pages as various family members encountered them; if the situation had been serious enough -or hilarious enough-, sometimes there were sheets of paper tucked between the chapters. The Hale family came to life from these pages, the ghosts of ancestors keeping him company if Derek wasn’t home.  
His heart shattered one afternoon when he found a picture tucked into the back of a book on fairies, tears quickly filling his eyes as he stared at the smiling faces of a family long gone. He located Derek first, a smiling child missing one of his front teeth, not more than six years old, standing in front of his dad. All of these people, more than twenty of them, stood smiling at the camera; even Cora was there, although she was only a baby. They must have been gathered for a big occasion, a family reunion or a birthday, to have so many of them together at once. He had heard about how many people had died in the Hale fire, but seeing the family, being able to put faces to the body count made him feel like breaking.  
His tears ran down his cheeks as he caressed the picture gently. Stiles couldn’t understand how Derek could bear the heartbreak of losing so many people all at once. He didn’t cry over himself anymore, about the shitty hand life had dealt him. He couldn’t afford to let loose his own pain; it wasn’t something he’d be able to contain twice. But Derek, Derek, he could cry for. For all the pain he had suffered, all the people he had lost, people who had been taken away no matter how hard he fought. Stiles could bear that burden of grief for him.  
Gently setting the picture aside on the coffee table, Stiles took a shuddering breath and dried his tears on the sleeves of his hoodie before refocusing on his reading. This is what he researched for, why he was so insistent to know everything about anything remotely supernatural. He would never let anyone lose their family like Derek had. Not if he had anything to say about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles knew their luck would eventually run out. Beacon Hills was basically a portal to hell; he didn’t have the proof to back it up, but he was pretty sure he was right about it with all the shit that had happened to in their town. But the hellhole had actually given them a chance to catch their breathe. It had been nine glorious weeks free from supernatural activity. No monsters attacking, no dark druids trying to sacrifice people, nothing going bump in the night. Sixty-three absolutely amazing days where nothing tried to actively kill them and they actually had the chance to be a bunch of teenagers. Broken and scarred teenagers, but teenagers all the same. Now as he dodged between trees in the Preserve, trying not to get himself drowned in the lake, he couldn’t help wishing they were all back at Derek’s loft for their regular movie night.

  
The first two weeks of summer passed quietly, filled with paperwork in his kitchen and research in Derek’s loft. He didn’t need anything else, didn’t want anything else as long as he was busy. Socializing wasn’t at the top of Stiles’s list; he could barely look people in the eye anymore. Whenever Derek asked about any of the pack, he’d just shrug in response, claiming that they were taking advantage of the momentary peace to rest. It was a flimsy excuse, but he truly didn’t know what the others were up to. He hadn’t received any texts or calls from Scott or Lydia; hell he hadn’t even received one from Issac. And he didn’t have the guts to text them. He was the cause of all their grief; he wasn’t going to press on their wounds.

  
When Derek texted them about a pack meeting the following Thursday evening, Stiles was sure it was just about the newest supernatural problems. He hadn’t heard anything from his Dad but he wouldn’t be shocked if something suddenly popped up. Something was always popping up in the Preserve; wasn’t that how this whole mess got started. As he pulled open the door to the loft and walked into the living room, he froze, wondering for a split second if he walked into the wrong apartment because there was no way that Derek had changed the loft so dramatically since Stiles last saw it two days before. An entertainment center had been set up against one wall, fitted with a massive flat screen tv and a few game consoles nestled beneath it. In front of the television were three new leather couches, covered with throw pillows and soft-looking blankets, and a wooden coffee table, which was filled with pizza and snacks.

  
As he stood there staring, Derek came down the staircase, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. He didn’t even know Derek owned sweats; he was always wearing jeans and his leather jacket. “You’re gonna catch flies like that,” Derek commented sarcastically.

  
“Wha-what the hell is all of this?” Stiles sputtered, gesturing wildly to the living room. “When did you even get all of this done?”

  
“It’s pack night,” he answered simply as the loft door opened again. “We’re watching movies.”

  
“Nice to see you’ve actually put some effort into making this place look habitable,” Lydia complimented as she walked in, followed closely by Issac. Even in all her strawberry blonde beauty, she looked rough. The circles under her eyes were barely concealed by her makeup, her hair had lost its healthy shine. Exhaustion seemed to linger around her body. Issac looked just as bad, if not worse.

  
A small part of Stiles was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who was struggling in the aftermath of everything; a larger part of him felt guilty for even having the thought. He tried to subtly move further away from the pair, but not subtly enough if the way Derek’s eyes flickered toward him was any indication.

  
“What’s going on, Derek?” Scott asked as he walked in with Kira by his side. His eyes quickly flickered over everyone, taking stock of who was there. “What’s happening now?”

  
“Nothing’s wrong,” Derek assured them as the loft door slid shut. “Nothing’s happening. We’re just having a movie night.”

  
A heavy silence settled over the room as Derek stood there watching them, his posture relaxed as he waited for a response. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, what the hell,” Stiles croaked our after a minute or two. Just the thought of having to spend time with everyone had him freaking out internally. How could he just hang out with all the people he hurt, the people he couldn’t talk to or look at.

  
Derek sighed softly, shaking his head. “Im not your alpha. And I know you’re all grieving right now, but you’re a pack. You’re supposed to stick together,” he explained gently. “But you’re all isolating yourselves instead of leaning on each other and you’re wearing yourselves down like that. None of you are doing well on your own. So I’m enforcing a mandatory pack night. We’re gonna watch some movies and eat some food together. Be normal teens for a few hours. What do you think?”

  
To say that Stiles was gobsmacked would be putting it mildly. He was pretty sure his mouth hung open for a few moments while he put together Derek’s words. He got where he was coming from, why Derek wanted to do this for them. But the thought of spending time with everyone made him want to scream.  
“Okay,” Scott murmured, taking a step toward one of the couches. “Can’t be any worse than it already is.”

  
“That’s the spirit,” Issac added sarcastically as he followed, opening one of the pizza boxes before settling on the couch. “What movies do you have?”

  
The remaining three slowly settled onto the leather couches, Stiles curling against one of the arms as he left the empty middle cushion between him and Lydia. He zoned out as the group began debating the merits of various movies, chewing at his already short nails. Derek settled a warm hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently to draw him out of his thoughts. “It’s okay,” he murmured as he sat between him and Lydia. “I won’t let anything happen. Just take a deep breath.”

  
Stiles nodded jerkily, his breath leaving him in a harsh burst as he leaned forward for a slice of pizza. A movie had been selected while he was lost in his thoughts, the start menu filling the wide screen. “Pack night. It’s exactly what we need,” he cheered with faux enthusiasm.

  
Despite the pack’s hesitance over the pack nights, they became exactly what they needed. They were all still grieving, but when they were all together, at least they didn’t feel like drowning. Weekly movie nights turned into trips to the movie theaters to see new released. Then an evening at a go-karting track. Then a trip to a state fair in the next town over. Then a drive down to spend the entire day at the beach. Derek may not have been their alpha, but him taking charge was exactly what was needed. They were all healing just in time for things to fall apart again.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles sprinted down the steep slope toward the lake as he heard the pained growls coming from the werewolves, all thoughts of hiding in the trees gone from his mind. Who would have thought that water nymphs could be so dangerous. There were lots of magical creatures that lived in the Preserve; he stopped trying to keep track of them a long time ago. The pack didn’t really care what creatures lived in the Preserve as long as they kept themselves away from humans and didn’t hurt anyone. Derek mentioned that the forest had always been a welcome home to anyone so he had no reason to change that. Nymphs sounded like they would be a peace-loving bunch, kind of like the pixies they encounter from time to time. But while the pixies enjoyed fresh flowers, the water nymphs enjoyed fresh blood and fresh human flesh so it had to go. He knew he would catch hell from Derek and Scott when everything was over, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around with his hands in his pockets and watch his friends get killed. He didn’t know what he could do, but he’d figure it out when he got to the lake.

The plan was to let the wolves handle the water nymph in the lake using the powder Deaton had made them and Stiles would stay in the background as back up. He had fought tooth and nail against that plan; Scott and Derek were the only wolves in town that could fight as Lydia and Issac had gone away for the weekend. They needed all the help they could get, even if all they had was the squishy fragile human who was more of a liability than an asset. In the end, he acquiesced to being back up and carrying the extra packets of powder if needed. Derek and Scott each had three with them, but it never hurt to have a few extra. Better over-prepared than underprepared. They had to get close enough to shove it down the nymph’s throat to kill it so his job was to keep from getting drowned. Sounded easy enough.

“Fuck!” Stiles shouted as his foot caught on a tree root, sending him rolling down the slope into a tree. A pained gasp escaped his lips as his back slammed into the hard trunk, pain radiating up his spine as he struggled to draw in a breath. He wasn’t sure how it felt to break your back but he was pretty sure the pain he was in was pretty close to it. His back was gonna look like an inkblot test before the end of the night. Presuming he survived that long and didn’t end up killing himself by accident.

Spots swam before his eyes as he groaned, a wave of nausea washing over him. His head throbbed as he rolled onto his stomach, feeling something wet trickle down the side of his face. Stiles would have preferred to just lay in the dirt for a while but he knew he didn’t have that kind of time to waste. He gave himself a moment to try and catch his breath before he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, a pained grunt leaving his lips. His arms trembled, threatening to give out and send him face first into the dirt. “Taken out by a goddamn tree,” he mumbled angrily as he finally got to his feet. His vision blurred momentarily as he leaned against the trunk before clearing again. “And probably a concussion. That’s just great. Let’s give the universe another reason to pick on me.”

As another growl came from the water, Stiles forced himself away from the tree, stumbling on his feet. His vision tilted sickeningly for a moment before settling, his stomach pitching with the distorted vision. He could finally see Derek and Scott grappling in the lake with the water nymph, could see as she bit into Scott’s arm and yikes that looked like it hurt. He was still a good thirty feet away from them and wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet but he had to get to them. He made his way from tree to tree as quickly as he could, using them to prop himself up and keep from rolling down the slope again as he kept a close eye on his feet.

His head snapped up as a pain filled howl ripped through the air, the sound cutting off abruptly. A second water nymph- _why is there a second one? There’s only supposed to be one!_ \- latched itself onto Derek’s back, its sharp teeth sunk into the side of his neck. Stiles could see the blood running down his throat, soaking into his shirt, and wasn’t that doing wonders for his already queasy stomach. The nymph suddenly jerked Derek backwards, dragging him into the water.

Stiles ran the remaining distance to the shoreline, heedless of the loose stones under his feet or the fallen branches that threatened to send him into the lake to be the next tasty nymph treat. All he could focus on was the splashing in the water that was quickly stopping and the fact that Derek definitely hadn’t taken a breath before he was dragged under. _‘No, no, no,’_ he thought frantically, panic clawing at his lungs, threatening to steal his breath. ‘Not another person, don’t take anymore else!’ His heart caught in his chest as the splashing in the water suddenly stopped yet Derek hadn’t surfaced. “Derek! DEREK!” Stiles screamed, his voice throbbing from the strain. A blinding pain filled his head, nearly sending him to his knees as the agony washed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut again the pain, a whimper escaping his lips as he doubled over. He felt as if his head was being squeezed, the pressure relentless. He was certain if the pain didn’t ease, he’d pass out from it.

“Stiles?” a watery voice croaked, the sound turning into a coughing fit. “Stiles?” He raised his head slightly, forcing his eyes back open. Stiles was pretty sure that the pain had triggered some sort of hallucination or maybe it was his mind trying to help him cope with losing another person he cared for. Because it was absolutely impossible for Derek Hale to be standing six feet from him, soaking wet with his shirt torn and various bite marks healing along his neck and shoulder.

“Derek?” Stiles answered, his voice cracking with fear as he took a step toward him. As he raised his hand to touch him, because he had to know, he had to know if this was real, the pressure in his head flared back to life again, the white hot pain causing his body to shut down. He was distantly aware of his knees giving out beneath him, of warm damp hands catching him before he face planted. He could hear Derek calling him frantically, but was too far gone to answer him. Even as the pain dragged him under, all he could feel was relief. _‘At least you’re okay,’_ he thought as he finally lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles slowly returned to consciousness, his senses awakening like a skittish animal, ready to run at the first sign of danger. The scent of disinfectant and wet dog filled his nose, the strange yet familiar scent comforting him. A barely noticeable flex of his fingers against a rough cloth helped confirm what he was pretty certain of; he was in Deaton’s office, probably laid out on the emergency cot they kept in his back room so they didn’t have to lay on the metal examination table. _‘So I’m not dead,’_ he thought tiredly. _‘That’s something.’_ His thoughts drifted lazily through his head as his hearing returned, catching snippets of conversation and familiar voices but unable to process them.

“-In the water-“

“-head bleeding-“

“-twenty minutes without-“

“-orange, Deaton. Fucking orange-“

Stiles whimpered softly as he finally returned to full consciousness, his head throbbing as he turned toward the voices.

“He’s awake!” Scott shouted in relief, his footsteps crossing the room before a weight settled on the side of the cot.

“Too loud,” Stiles groaned as he opened his eyes, wincing at thebrightness of the lights. _‘Nope, not doing that again,’_ he thought as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Welcome back, Stiles,” Deaton commented as he moved toward Stiles. Scott moved from his spot on the bed, making room for Deaton to get closer to him while he repositioned himself at the bottom of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck. Repeatedly,” he rasped. He paused to take a breath, groaning as his ribs ached. His body didn’t hurt nearly as much when he was unconscious. “My back feels like one massive bruise...pretty sure my head is gonna explode any minute. I definitely hit it. Maybe multiple times. What happened?” His body jerked suddenly as his memories came crashing back, his muscles protesting the harsh movement as he sat up. His vision blurred as he looked around the room, desperately trying to focus his eyes. “Derek! Where’s Derek! We have to save him!” He shouted in a panic.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” Derek answered quickly, shifting from the corner where he stood to the side of Stiles’s bed. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Stiles’s body slumped as his burst of energy left him as rapidly as it had come. “You’re okay? How are you okay? How did we even get back here?” he questioned, forcing his shaking arms to hold himself up.

“We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on the situation,” Deaton answered. “From what Derek and Scott have told me, it seems maybe you’re the reason that Derek is alive.”

He frowned in confusion, resisting the urge to shake his head. He was 90% sure any sudden head movements would send him right back to unconsciousness. “That’s literally impossible. I was so far from the water. All I did was scream for him and try not to pass out from my head throbbing. And then Derek was there in front of me. But I didn’t do anything.”

“Your eyes were orange,” Derek commented softly. “One minute I was under water and the next I was standing near you and your eyes were orange.”

Deaton hummed thoughtfully, “I think maybe your spark isn’t gone after all. Maybe it’s just been dormant until it was needed, but nevertheless it seems to have absorbed something of the Nogitsune’s powers.”

The blood drained from Stiles’s face at his words, his stomach dropping. “N-no, no,” he stuttered frantically, pushing himself away from them. His head and back hit the wall behind him, pain flaring through his muscles. His heart raced in his chest as his breaths grew shorter. “No, we locked it up. W-we locked the firefly in the box, it can’t be back. It-I, n-no. It can’t happen again. I closed the door, I closed the door!”

One of the overhead lights shattered suddenly, raining glass down in one of the corners. His mind flashed back suddenly to the standoff in Derek’s loft, the Nogitsune immensely amused as Allison tried to tase them. His mocking laughter in his head over how woefully unprepared they were. How could they try to save their precious Stiles when they didn’t even know how to fight him. He had been playing with electricity since he was a child, could call it down from the clouds. Did they think their man-made electricity would harm him; did they not know how easily he could turn it back on them, could kill them all with the weapon they gave to him. _‘Do you want to see them dance, Stiles? Bodies are so entertaining to watch as they’re electrocuted, as their skin fries and their bodies writhe in agony on the floor. Do you want to see it, Stiles? Why don’t we play a game. If you win, I won’t shock them. Or how about a riddle, Stiles? You’re clever; I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Or not.”_

“Stiles!” a voice shouted, hands gripping his face. “You have to breath!”

Black spots danced before his eyes, his hands reaching up to grip the forearms of whoever held him. He tried to focus on the blurred person in front of him, on the warmth of their hands against his face.

“Come on, Stiles, you can do it,” the voice coaxed. “Just like at the loft. Just you and me.”

“D-D-Der,” Stiles stuttered, his vision slowly clearing as he dug his nails into Derek’s arms. He whimpered softly as he tried to follow Derek’s breathing, his chest tight and his limbs trembling.

“Shh,” Derek murmured, his thumb stroking Stiles’s cheek. “Take your time; it’s okay. I’m right here.”

It felt like a lifetime before Stiles could take a proper breath again only to be choked off by a sob. _‘This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening again,’_ he thought desperately as tears flowed down his cheeks. “Don’t-don’t let me hurt anyone,” Stiles sobbed, his grip tightening on Derek’s arms. “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I j-just wanna stop.”

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest as one of his hands cradled his head. “You won’t hurt anyone; I promise you won’t,” he answered softly. “I’m here.”

“I just want it to stop,” Stiles cried, nearly inconsolable. “I want it all to stop.”


End file.
